


Goat Farming in Wakanda

by RembrandtsWife



Series: Short visits to Wakanda [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Frottage, Goats, M/M, No Spoilers, Oral Sex, Post-Black Panther (2018), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reunion Sex, Reunions, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 16:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14548755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: The eve of Thanos' invasion was not the first time Steve saw Bucky in Wakanda.





	Goat Farming in Wakanda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DizzyRedhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/gifts).



> A confluence of things, and this fic happened: The Russo Brothers said Steve had been visiting Bucky in Wakanda for a while; [Dizzy Redhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead) sent me gifs of Sebastian Stan talking about homoerotic content in _The Covenant_ ; I had an Evanstan RPF dream. BOOM. Here we go. 
> 
> Thanks to Dizzy for inspiration and beta!

Bucky was trying to catch the nanny-goat when Steve came back for the first time.

He didn't know how the damn goat managed to elude him. He was still stronger, faster, and maybe a little smarter than the average human, let alone a goat. Maybe only having one arm was a disadvantage, but usually if he just got hold of her, the game was over. It was getting hold that was the challenge; she was just there one instant and not-there the next, like what was it Shuri had talked to him about? Teleportation.

The village kids would watch and laugh at him, but that was fine. Having somebody laugh at him instead of run away screaming? That was more than fine, that was great. Bucky leaped and landed bodily on top of the nanny, which should have killed her but just made her bleat pitifully and kick her sharp little hind feet into his belly. As he got one arm under her and struggled to his feet, he heard one of the older children calling him. 

"White wolf! White wolf! Your friend is here!"

Bucky turned around, the goat tucked under his arm, and saw Steve standing by the landing field, watching him.

The nanny had stopped struggling now, so Bucky just tucked her up a little more firmly and took a couple of steps toward Steve. "Hey."

Steve took a step toward him. "Hey, Buck."

Bucky tilted his head toward his prisoner. "I gotta milk the goat," he said, not knowing what else to say, and then Steve was laughing and striding down the path toward him.

Bucky wanted--he wasn't sure what he wanted, but he had to finish his routine. Steve watched as he milked the goat, one-handed, while she made tiny snorting noises of relief. Then he gave her fresh hay and fresh water and a pat on the rump before turning to Steve. "Come on."

He picked up the bucket and went into the house, Steve following. As usual the lights came on--motion-sensitive lighting, the bulbs so well hidden he'd had to search for them like bugs. Bucky put the bucket down and, as he usually did, grabbed a bowl and then a dipper to have a drink. Steve was looking around the small, low-ceilinged house with its low bed, its rich textiles, the sourceless light all around them and the oil lamp on the single table.

"Want some milk?"

Steve turned, looking startled. Bucky had found that yes, he did have two of everything, bowls, plates, chairs; somebody had figured Steve would come to him sooner or later.

"Sure."

Bucky dipped out two bowls of the fresh goat's milk and handed one to Steve, who took it with both hands. He waited until Bucky had taken a gulp to try it himself and looked kind of shocked.

Bucky laughed. "Yeah, the temperature takes some getting used to. But it doesn't get any fresher than this." He finished his milk, watching Steve as he drank. Steve had been letting his hair and beard grow out, probably his idiot idea of a disguise. Bucky liked the full beard, though; it made Steve look, well, a little less wholesome, a little less a comic-book hero and more a man who had fought in a war and seen some things. 

Steve's eyes, though, were all too familiar, over the rims of their bowls--the same sad, angry eyes that had glared at Bucky out of a thin, sickly face decades ago. Just as he had then, Bucky felt the urge to do something that would brighten those eyes, soften the stiff shoulders, bring a smile to the full mouth.

"Come on." He touched Steve lightly on the arm. "Let's go sit outside, it's nicer. Babalwa usually brings me some porridge."

There was a bench at the top of the little hill where you had a nice view: The village with its little thatched houses, the chickens his nearest neighbor kept, the dip to the river, and the eastern horizon, wooded. The sun had just cleared the tops of the trees, but it wasn't too bright or too hot yet. The weather in Wakanda was so great that Bucky wondered if it was artificially controlled. He hadn't had the nerve to ask Shuri yet.

Steve sat down beside him, looking uncomfortable in 21st-century American clothes: tight jeans that barely came up to his hips, a loose windbreaker over a snug blue shirt. Bucky looked at Steve's trainers, then at his own bare feet, hard and perpetually brown now from walking on the earth, and wanted to make Steve feel as comfortable as he felt, but he didn't know how.

"It's beautiful here, Bucky." Steve sounded like he was admiring the flowers at a funeral. 

Bucky thought of saying, "It sure is," and then making some kind of small talk about what Steve had been doing while he was away. What came out of his mouth, however, was, "Dammit, Rogers," and he curled his hand around the back of Steve's neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Steve's lips were dry but soft, his breath sweet from the fresh goat's milk, and the sensation of beard against beard was new and... sensual, that was a good word. Bucky pulled back when he realized he wasn't getting much of a response and searched Steve's shocked face. "Did I remember wrong? All the triggers are gone, but I'm still not 100% with my memory--"

"You remember?" Steve's voice was hoarse. "Christ, sometimes I thought I'd dreamed it--that we used to--that I--that you--"

Laughing, Bucky cut him off with another kiss, and this time Steve not only kissed back but wound his fingers into Bucky's hair, cupping his head as carefully as he had cupped the full bowl of milk. 

"Not here," Bucky gasped when Steve let him go, "the village kids--" They sprinted for the house.

Bucky touched a bead on his kimoyo and the sensor lights dimmed, leaving just enough glow to see Steve stripping down and enjoy it, the rippling muscles and the light glinting on his skin. His loose tunic and shawl only needed a good shrug before he stalked naked toward Steve, getting his arm around that impossibly narrow waist and pulling him close. Steve's hands went straight into his hair again and they kissed for long moments, hungrily, thirstily, while their cocks reared up and rubbed together. Steve moaned into Bucky's mouth; Bucky shifted his stance, got a grip of Steve's ass, and laughed, gently, as Steve spurted between their bellies.

Steve shook his head, dizzy with sudden release. Bucky steered him toward the bed, clambering on top of him as he sank back, pulling the pillows under his neck. Brazenly, Bucky stroked his own cock, watching Steve watch him, watching Steve get hard again in the space of a few strokes. "It was always like this, wasn't it?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Before the war--even after--"

"After Peg?" Bucky's stroke slowed.

"Yeah." Tears sprang from the outer corners of Steve's eyes, quick and shocking. "She died--I never had time to tell you--she died right before the Vienna bombing."

Bucky reached out to pet and soothe, but Steve curled forward and got his mouth on Bucky's cock. Groaning, Bucky planted his arm behind him and thrust his hips forward, giving Steve better access. Steve cupped Bucky's ass and coaxed him further up his body, so Steve could lie back and still suck his cock. The world never knew what a fantastic cocksucker Captain America was. Steve's mouth was hot and tight and steady, and his hands roamed everywhere, Bucky's ass, his thighs, his balls, his taint. When Bucky came, it seemed to go on for years, decades, centuries, for all the time that he and Steve had been apart.

Bucky rolled off Steve and onto his back, trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Steve, panting, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned toward him, one hand coming to rest lightly on Bucky's jaw. "You okay, Buck?"

"Christ, Rogers, that was seventy-some years of delayed orgasm. Give a guy a sec."

Steve snorted, then chuckled, and then it turned into one of those deep belly laughs Bucky remembered from the distant past, head thrown back, hand coming to rest over his heart. As Steve subsided, Bucky let himself reach for that lax hand and twine their fingers together.

"The last time I remember you laughing like that, we were sitting around a campfire in Alsace with the others, Dugan and Morita and all. We had half a dozen bottles of really good wine from this little village, loaves of bread, and fresh venison. You, you goddamn maniac, you practically killed this deer with your bare hands. I mean, you jumped on its back and tried to break its neck, because it ran across our path in the woods. I put it down with a bullet to the head, and then Dernier said something about venison, and when we made camp, he and Monty butchered it. That was the best meat I ever ate. Do you remember that?"

From the look of amazement on Steve's face, he did. "How much do you remember, Buck?"

Bucky turned onto his back and squinted up at the ceiling. "A lot. Not everything. But I have, what is it, continuity now. I remember, well, being me, from before the war, and during, and then while Zola had me, and as the Soldier, and afterward, after we fought on the helicarrier."

Bucky risked a glance at Steve, who had a stricken expression. "You remember what Zola did to you?"

Bucky squeezed the hand he still held. "Enough. It's not pretty, but I've got somebody helping me. Over in the next village, there's a _sodole_. I guess you'd call them a medicine man, or a shaman? But also a psychologist. They've been working with me on the stuff Shuri's tech couldn't fix. Dealing with shit, you know?"

A familiar jingly noise interrupted what Steve was about to say. "Oh, hey, that's Babalwa." Bucky got up and wrapped his shawl casually around his hips, then grabbed two clean bowls before going outside.

"Ah, Bucky, there you are. Two bowls? Good thing I made some extra porridge this morning." Babalwa, with her infant tucked casually against her bare breast and a jug of porridge wrapped in a cloth braced on her hip, actually winked at him before deftly tipping the jug and pouring out the warm cooked grains.

He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Does everybody in the village know my business, lady?" 

"Ah, everyone knows everyone else's business in any village." She wiped the rim of the jug. "But you, my friend, everyone in Wakanda knows your business!"

Laughing, Babalwa continued her rounds. Her bracelets jingled as she walked. Steve was standing in the doorway of the house, dressed but still barefoot, and smiling. 

"Room service," Bucky said, and handed him a bowl. They ate the porridge with shallow wooden spoons, drank cool water and more milk.

"What's this made of?" Steve scraped the bowl with his finger like a kid. 

"Millet. In America we feed it to birds for a treat. In Africa it's as common as wheat or corn." Bucky wiped his mouth. "And it's good. I think she puts a little honey in it, maybe vanilla."

"Huh." Steve looked around, probably wondering where to wash his bowl like a good guest. Bucky asked the question that had started to ache behind his breast bone.

"Steve... is this a flying visit or...?"

Steve smiled, a really good smile. "Sam and Wanda, and Clint and Scott, I got them off the Raft. They're okay for now. I have... time for a real visit."

"Good." Bucky took Steve's bowl and put it aside. "Then take off those clothes and get back into bed. We can do this all day."

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Rather than using a word from a real African culture, I invented the word Bucky uses for a Wakandan shaman/soul healer, _sodole_.
> 
> I am [rembrandtswife](rembrandtswife.tumblr.com) on Tumblr and I post about birds as well as the MCU.


End file.
